Failure
by ChoCedric
Summary: Another vignette of Sirius in Azkaban. Everyone thinks of him as a cold-hearted monster, and he thinks so, too. For who else would be so cold as to fail the best friends they've ever had?


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Failure

By: ChoCedric

Dementors surround him, decimating every happy memory he has. He curls up into a little ball on his cell floor, every nerve of his body shaking with grief and rage. The Ministry officials who escorted him here have just been sent away, and he is now here by himself, left to deal with the repercussions of what he's done.

Lily, James, I failed you, he thinks as he cries for the first time in years. Tears stream down his aristocratic, handsome face, and he knows that in this place, it will remain that way for not much longer. I was supposed to protect you, and I killed you. I'm so, so terribly sorry. His visions of spending time with little Harry, for a happily ever after for the little family have come crashing down.

If only he'd stayed the secret keeper! He thinks bitterly as he pulls chunks of his hair out. I would have died for them, been tortured for them. He knows this for a fact, that he would've been strong, that he would've sustained the torture that Voldemort dished out. No, he's not even afraid to say or think the name, for he feels too much rage at the bastard for everything he's done to him and his best friends' lives.

He continues to tangle his hands through his hair, screaming loud, deafening notes and pulling it out. The image of Lily and James's lifeless eyes haunt him, and seeing little Harry in Hagrid's arms, fearing he was dead too ... it's all too much for him. He lies on the floor, kicking his legs out in a spastic rhythm, tears continuing to stream down his face.

He will never see the light of day again. He will never see his best friend again. He will never play with Harry, make gentle barking noises in his ear, or fly a broomstick with James again. He'll never smell the sweet scents of food wafting from the Potters' kitchen as Lily prepares a delightful meal. And it's all because he failed them, he failed to keep them safe. "I'm so sorry!" he bawls, banging his fists on the hard floor until his knuckles bleed, but he doesn't care. Nothing compares to this emotional agony he is feeling; no amount of physical pain can possibly match it.

He wonders how long it'll take for him to go mad in here. He hears the wails and screams of the other prisoners, and he howls, "Shut the hell up!" right back at them. They are all guilty, they have all committed reprehensible crimes. None of them have any idea what he's going through, being confronted with the bodies of the two people he loved most in the entire world. And Remus ... oh, Gods, Remus. To think he could suspect the gentle, lovable werewolf of treachery! He bangs his head against the floor, relishing the pain it causes.

He begins to laugh madly as he thinks of Peter. Peter, that scummy, low-life, betraying little rat! He pulled the biggest prank the Marauders have ever pulled, and Sirius wonders what James thought of it. "Clever, eh, Prongs?" he shrieks out, spit flying from his mouth. "Yeah, Prongsie? Whaddya think of that? Little Peter finally got something right!" Hysterical laughter continues to rack his body as he rattles the bars insanely.

When the laughter finally dies, he lies in a foetal position and curses every God he's ever heard of. "Damn you, Pettigrew!" he screams with the last of his strength. "Lily, James, Harry, I'm so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so sorry!" His voice finally dying, he just lies there, his breaths shallow gasps, tears continuously bathing his face. "Gods, what've I done?" he says in a hoarse whisper.

As the minutes tick past, he knows that no matter what, he can't take back what he's done. He deserves every lonely day in Azkaban Prison that will pass, and he'll never forgive himself. He deserves those accusing stares from Lily and James that he conjures up in his mind, and he knows no pity will ever be given to him from the rest of the wizarding world, for they think of him as a cold-hearted murderer. And he thinks so, too, for who would be so cold as to fail the best friends he's ever had? "So sorry," are his final words of the day as a fitful, nightmare-filled sleep finally claims him. "So sorry."


End file.
